Seem So Vast
by Championship Vinyl
Summary: Not the kind of thing I usually do, but I had to do it, and it'll turn out great. I hope. :D Takes place in 2008. Anya and Dimitri's great-granddaughter takes a journey to the past of her own.... Read & review please.
1. Once Upon A Time In America

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**(Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I probably ever, own 20th Century Fox's Anastasia or any of its characters. Again. For the billionth time. So there.) **

**This story was never intended to become real. It was just an idea I had in the middle of other plans, and I never saw myself doing something like this, but something about it just made me want to drop everything and see where it could go.**

**This story takes place in America in 2008, is about the great-granddaughter of Anya and Dimitri. She doesn't know about her royal roots, since her mother never told her about her great-grandparents. So, over the summer before college, she goes on a journey to discover the truth about her past. Twists and turns and complications ensue, yada yada yada.**

**The lineage of the characters may be a bit confusing, so I'll clear that up right now. Anya and Dimitri had Tasha and Mikhail. If you have no clue who they are, then read the first page of "Somewhere Down This Road" and the second page of "This Christmas," because I'm really getting tired of explaining them and when they were born and why and everything.**

**Anyway. Mikhail will not be used a whole lot in this story, so I didn't bother trying to figure out his children, how many, etc. You just need to know that, in 2008, he's 66.**

**Tasha will be more important to the story. She is 71. I didn't bother figuring out how many kids she had either, but who is important is her daughter, Alexandra. Alexandra (called Allie) is Anya and Dimitri's granddaughter, and she's 45.**

**Now we come to the main character. Allie's daughter, Lauren, is 17-18. She is A/D's GREAT-granddaughter. So the line goes, Anya, Tasha, Allie, Lauren. Which is not that hard.**

**But there's one little detail: Tasha and Mikhail always knew who their parents were. And they told their children (meaning Allie, too, knows that she's the Grand Duchess). But, for her protection, Allie was the one who chose NOT to tell her daughter, Lauren, about the past. That's why Lauren knows nothing---because Allie wanted no part of the royalty.**

**Okay! I think that's all you need to know, except that the month here is June. And if you are slightly depressed that this takes place...after Anya and Dimitri's time, so to speak, don't worry. It kinda depressed me too, but I had to write this. And I promise beyond PROMISE that you will LOVE the ending chapter, because I already know what it's gonna be. ;-) So anyway. Read it, please, and you know I LIVE for reviews, and I really hope you enjoy it, 'cause I'm going out on a limb here. Peace and love.**

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"Hey."

She looked up from the notebook in her lap, and sheilded her eyes to get a better view of the sun-framed silhouette that had adressed her.

The guy offered his hand. She took it, lifting herself from the grass at the base of the tree.

"You got a name?"

She smiled, batting a section of dark hair out of her eyes. "I'm Lauren."

"Tyler," the guy replied. "I haven't seen you around here before. You new or something?"

Lauren took in the sight of the massive college campus all around her. "Actually, I don't officially go here yet. I graduate next week---I'm just seeing how it fits, I guess. Or, how _I_ fit."

That got him to smile. Something about the women in her family had no trouble in that department. "Well, you'll like it here," Tyler advised. "I can tell."

"Thanks." She meant it, too. After a moment, she indicated the tree behind her, her forgotten notebook lying on a rock. "I, uh, I need to get back to my...."

"Right." Tyler nodded. "So. Maybe I'll see you in September?"

"Maybe you will," Lauren smiled. "It's a definite possibility."

He turned and walked back across the common. Lauren slid back down the trunk of the tree and landed on the soft grass. _A definite possibility_, she thought. She liked that word.

Lifting the hand containing her early birthday present---a blue 4th generation iPod Nano---she turned the song back on. It was one of her favorites, and Lauren savored the sun on her face as she lost herself in the words.

_Sing it again;_

_Lift up your hearts and sing me a song_

_That was a hit before your mother was born;_

_Though she was born a long long time ago,_

_Your mother should know;_

_Your mother should know...._

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**'Kay. There's the first chapter. It's pretty short because it's just foreshadowing at this point. Oh, and I should mention that I do NOT own the song "Your Mother Should Know" or the Beatles, either. Or iPods. I just felt like the song went with it, and the iPod will provide a clue for her later, kinda. (After all, it IS 2008 here.) Anyway. Reviews would be nice please. I'll be working on the next chap.**

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	2. It's My Party And I'll Pry If I Want To

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**The inquiry begins... ;-) And yes, the "Uncle Mike" here is A/D's son Mikhail. This chapter was originally much longer, but it was TOO long, so I split it up into 2 and 3. Remember to review or I have no idea if you love it more than air or if you want to stone me at the first opportunity.**

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"Happy birthday, dear Lauren; happy birthday to youuuuuu!"

Lauren laughed, adjusting the fake tiara on her head as her family sang the final bar. "Thanks, guys."

Before she could blow out the eighteen candles, the phone rang. Her dad, Martin, sprang up to answer it. "I'll get it, I'll get it, just don't extinguish anything till I get back!"

She traded a good-natured eye roll with her mother and waited by the cake in silence. When Martin returned, he seemed a bit off-balance, somehow.

"Who was that?"

"Just your great-uncle calling from London."

"Uncle Mike?" Lauren was clearly more enthusiastic than her father. "But I thought he and you two weren't speaking! What did he want?"

"Just to wish you a happy birthday," he dismissed. "Now come on. Make a wish."

"All right, all right." Lauren took a deep breath. _I want to feel at home at college. I want to still be me. I want to always remember who I am._ Okay, so that was three wishes, but hey. If genies can do it, why not cakes?

She managed a respectable gust, and every flame flickered out.

"'Bout time." Martin joked. "Now I get cake."

Her mother was already clearing away plates from dinner. "I'm just going to get a few of these soaking. I don't even want to know what's crusted on here."

"Ew, Al, we're still eating," Martin complained through a mouthful of cake.

Lauren sliced herself a piece of cake that could easily have covered Rhode Island, and listened to the water running in the sink as she ate. After a moment, though, she put her fork down on the plate. She strained to hear something else, something...softer.

It was her mother. She was singing softly to herself while she did the dishes, and something about it sounded familiar. Like a lullaby. Lauren focused in order to make out the words, quietly approaching the door.

"_On the wind, 'cross the sea,_

_Hear this song and remember;_

_Soon you'll be, home with me,_

_Once upon a December._"

"Mom?"

Startled, Allie looked up, dropping the plate back into the sink and scattering soap over her blouse. "Oh, hon, I didn't see you there."

"That song...what is it?"

Allie focused bashfully on the sink. "It's just an old Russian folk song. My grandmother used to sing it."

"Really?" Lauren set her plate down, her interest growing. "It's beautiful. How come you've never mentioned her before?"

"Of _course_ I've mentioned my own grandmother," Allie sighed. "You remember."

"I mean, I know you've _mentioned_ her, but all you ever said was that she was stubborn. And that she traveled."

Allie seemed to be inexplicably losing patience, and fast. "If I only told you so much, it's because that's all you need to know!" she snapped.

"Whoa, mom---"

"I mean, can't you see I'm busy, and then you come in here wanting to play twenty questions about my grandparents? _God_, Lauren! Just go back in with your father; give me five minutes of peace!"

It was just one question, and yet Lauren had never seen her mother act this way. She couldn't believe it. Turning on her heel, she left the kitchen and escaped to the attic without another word.


	3. Painted Wings

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**Now for the second part of the original long chap. I would've titled it "Like A Memory From A Dream" if I hadn't already used that in "JtaDP." :D The story really takes wing now. (Ha! Hey, look, another dumb unintentional pun!) Not giving anything away. Enjoy, and, (young British Oliver Twist-esque accent) "Please, sir, may I have some reviews?" You know you love some Oliver. ;-) Anyway. Focus. She's in the attic---huh, what could happen **_**there**_**...?**

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The room was dark, and had that dusty smell to it, but even so, it remained Lauren's sanctuary. She picked her way through the heaps of boxes on the floor, heading for the overstuffed chair in the corner.

Once she sat, her mind turned to the place itself. _I must have gone through every box in this room, _she mused to herself. She had a habit of leafing through the memories up here. Even now, her arm reached over and dragged a box toward her almost of its own accord. _Well. One more can't hurt._

She was surprised to find that it was still sealed, presumably the only one. _Guess I must have missed one._

She used a pen to slit the tape, and pulled back the worn cardboard flaps. The item at the very top, naturally, was the first one to catch her attention.

It was a photograph, framed, she realized, gingerly picking it up. It showed a beaming young woman in the arms of a man who looked a lot like Uncle Mike, but much younger....

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_"Vlad, the ship leaves in an hour," she laughed. "We have to go."_

_"I know, I know, I just want to get one more." He waved the camera around like a circus performer waves a flag._

_Dimitri rolled his eyes. "You've gotten enough shots to fill a museum by now. Aren't you ever gonna get sick of that thing?"_

_"I've only had it for a week." Vlad pouted. He wouldn't give up that easily. "And those weren't proper shots---you keep moving."_

_Anya still found the whole scene funny. "That's probably because if we miss this ship, we'll have to sell _you_ to make up the difference."_

_"Oh, come on. Just one last picture. As a favor to me. Please?"_

_Neither could really argue with that. "All right." Dimitri pulled Anya in front of him and wrapped his arms around her, making their first effort of the day to stand still for Vlad's stupid camera._

_He almost didn't have to tell them, but he loved the photography tradition of it._

_"Smile!"_

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It was black and white, of course, and in loose handwriting in the bottom corner was scrawled _1929_.

Lauren let out a gasp. _This is them,_ she realized. _It has to be._ Running her fingers lightly over the image, she made up her mind. She kept going.

The next object in the box was nothing but a piece of paper. At first Lauren thought nothing of it, but she quickly changed her mind, and unfolded it, realizing by the first few words that it was a letter.

Without reading the rest, she re-folded it and stuck it in her pocket. _If mom won't tell me,_ she thought, _then I'll find out myself._

It was then that she came upon the greatest of the treasures. In the bottom corner, there was a small wooden box, no bigger than a deck of cards. Lauren took it out and carefully pulled it open.

It was a pendant---a small, solid-gold star-like shape, with genuine emerald toward the center. And it was inscribed with something.

Lauren brought it closer in an attempt to make it out. "Together in Paris," she read.

Lifting the pendant from the box, she slipped the delicate gold chain over her head.

Under the first wooden box, there had been another, and she opened that now, finding what she recognized from History class as the Medal of Honor.

Lauren sat back, recalling the wish she'd just made.

_I have to know them. I have to find out who I am._

A creak broke the silence, followed by a knock and a voice.

"Lauren? You up here?"

It took her a second to be able to answer him. Understandable, after all. "Yeah, dad. I'll be right down."

Leaving the boxes, the dust, and the untold memories behind her, she stood and made her way silently down the stairs.

But she wasn't silent for long.

"Mom?" she demanded, storming into the kitchen. She held up the pendant around her neck.

Allie looked like all the air had been knocked out of her. Finally, she managed a stony reply. "Where did you get that?"

"In the attic. Where you dumped everything _else_ I never knew." Lauren was angry now, and she knew it. "Why have you never told me about them? What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything, and this is none of your business."

Her eyes narrowed. "None of my _business?_ I have a right to know where I come from!"

"What you already know is all you're ever _going_ to." Allie declared, dodging the question. "As long as you live in this house you'll live by my rules. That is final."

"Oh _yeah?_ Well so is _this,_" Lauren challenged. "I'm going. And you can't stop me."

An angry, exhausted sigh. "Where."

"To Paris. To see grandma. If _you_ don't want to tell me, I know _someone _who will."

Lauren couldn't believe she'd had the guts to say that, nor that Allie had the audacity to laugh. "And how did you expect to manage _that_?"

"I work," Lauren answered defensively. "I've got some money."

Allie only shook her head. "No. You are _not_ going to _Paris_. You've got three months until college, and you're going to spend _every one _of them in this house. This discussion is _over_."

So Lauren turned away and headed for the stairs to her bedroom, taking them two at a time. She could think only one thing.

_We'll see about that_.

She entered her room. Locked the door. Hours passed. It was about eleven-thirty before she heard her parents retire, and darkness filled the air.

All she had was a duffel bag. It held all the clothes she could manage, a notebook and pen, her iPod, and nearly nine hundred dollars, her life savings. She thanked herself silently for being a frugal spender during those four summers at Home Depot.

The curtain parted. The latch stuck a bit, but the pane slid up with ease, and before she had time to think twice, one leg was out the window. Then the other.

It only took a quick shimmy down the drainpipe, a three-foot drop, and a running start, and just like that the house shrank into the distance.

_This is going,_ she pointed out silently, _to be a very interesting summer._


	4. Paris Holds The Key

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**Hi, back again. This chapter separated by times/locations. Enjoy! And honestly, people, you know you wanna review. I see my story traffic so I know you're reading---just tell me what you liked! Or not! Which reminds me, special thanks to britney628 and DimitrisDuchess for sticking to my work like a magnet to WALL-E. (**_**God**_**, do I ramble on.) I look forward to you guys' reviews the most. Anyway. The search begins... **

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"Attention, passengers, this is your captain speaking. We are beginning our descent into Paris; please place your tray in the upright and locked position."

Lauren did as advised. She couldn't have eaten her food anyway. Her stomach had already been overtaken by nervous jitters---either that or it was airsickness. She amused herself with the thought that plane food could also have been a leading cause. Lab rats wouldn't eat that stuff.

Looking out the window, Lauren watched in awe as the clouds opened and the city was revealed---a thousand specks and the Eiffel Tower. She had only ever been here once before in her life, to visit her grandmother, and that had been when she was under her parents' guidance and too young to remember.

"Please fasten your seat belts for the descent."

_Here goes nothing,_ she thought, pulling the strap tight and turning her iPod back on.

_So I started out_

_For God knows where._

_I guess I'll know_

_When I get there._

_I'm learnin' to fly,_

_Around the clouds;_

_What goes up,_

_Must come down...._

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Allie padded in from the kitchen, still in semi-frantic mode. "Okay, I just got off the phone with the police."

"Wha---the _police?_" Martin was frantic, too, but in more of a 'my-wife-is-about-to-kill-someone' way. "Allie, if you told her not to go, then that's where she is. You can bet on it." He stood very still, hoping she'd learn by example and stop pacing. "There's no reason to call the cops on her, for God's sake."

"But we don't _know_ that's where she is!"

He leveled her with a meaningful gaze. "_I_ do." A silent beat passed. "And so do you, Al. Think about it."

Allie did actually look as if she were mulling it over.

"She's in Paris," Martin concluded. "We can't do anything about that now. But I know Lauren, and I know she's okay. So go call the police station back and tell 'em their help isn't neccesary. All right?"

There was a sigh, more fidgeting and an eye roll before she conceded. "All right."

She left the room, disappearing back into the kitchen. "And don't let me see you come back in here with a S.W.A.T. team!" Martin called after her.

But once she was gone, he shot a nervous glance toward the door, muttering, "Kid, you better know what you're doing."

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"Did you get the file on that kid?"

Officer Holden walked into the deputy's office and sat down to await a response.

Deputy Gerald hung up the phone first. "No need. The family called back to recind. They know where she is."

"Well _yeah_, Frank, but if a call was made you know as well as I do that we should still check it out. What's this kid's background?"

The deputy removed his glasses then, emphasizing his solemn gaze. "That's why I'm still concerned," he nodded. "It's Lauren Evans. The Romanov girl."

Holden pretended he hadn't heard, and got up to leave. He stopped, though, hovering by the doorway, and could find only one thing to say.

"Better tell the officials...to keep an eye on this."

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Lauren had no idea what she was doing. That was clear to her after twenty minutes of walking around _Parc du Champs de Mars_ asking people "Parles-vous Anglais?" Which had an annoying habit of not working.

Thanks to her mother, Lauren didn't know her own grandmother's address. Of course, it was due to her mother that she was here at all.

Mindlessly she began fiddling with the charm around her neck. It was typical Lauren fashion to charge headfirst into deep water without a life jacket, and she'd be the first to admit it. Reluctantly.

_One more,_ she told herself. _I'll ask one more person, and then I'll just give up for the day and find a room somewhere._

There was a moment of courage-building, a deep breath, and then she reached out and tapped a passing thirtysomething woman on the shoulder.

"Uh, pardon moi," she said. "Parles-vous Anglais?"

"No Anglais," the woman insisted. Lauren deflated a bit. But then the woman said something in a heavy accent that sounded suspiciously like a name.

Lauren's eyebrows crinkled in concentration. "Can you repeat that?"

The woman blinked.

"Repeat? You know, _say again_?"

Out of pure chance, the woman repeated the name, hoping that would satisfy Lauren's American nagging.

She knew that name. It sounded...familiar.

"Where can I find him?"

The woman pointed to a cafè across the street, eager to go.

And now so was Lauren. Muttering a quick "Merci," she folded her arms, and with a renewed sense of purpose, marched across the road.

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**Wonder who it is? ;D (I'm not giving anything away.) Plus now we know that the govt. is onto this... Should mention that I don't own the song "Learning To Fly" by Tom Petty. Hope you're likin' it---tell me if/what you did! Next one very soon.**


	5. More Than One Thing Brewing

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**Read it, like it, review it, yada yada yada. Without further ado, let's see who's in the cafè....**

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The first thing that met her when she pushed open the cafè door was the overpowering smell of coffee. The second thing was the noise, and third, the revelation that the house was packed.

_Great._

Lauren spent about five seconds trying to discern the French in the room from the Americans---after that, she gave up and took the shortcut.

"Tyler!"

Nobody even looked up.

"_Tyler_!"

A head of short, red-blonde hair in front of a laptop turned around. He raised a hand to help with the navigation process, still having no clue who'd called him, and she headed for it.

"Hey! God, you have no idea how glad I am I ran into you!" she erupted, pulling up a chair.

A smirk spread over his face, and his attention shifted. He shut the laptop. "Well well well, look who we have here. Bonjour."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm spending the summer in the Foreign Studies program. You?"

Lauren let out a sigh. "It's a long story."

"Oh yeah?" He broke off a piece of the muffin in front of him and ate it. "Enlighten me."

So she did. She sat back and gave him the whole story, A to Z, beginning to end. When she finished, he just looked confused. "What?"

Tyler paused. "I am _completely_ blanking on your name."

An indignant laugh escaped her. "You've got to be kidding me! I just rambled on for ten minutes and you didn't even _say_ anything?"

"What?" he grinned. "We met for like, thirty seconds two weeks ago. Cut me a break."

"Well. It's Lauren. Lauren Evans."

He offered his hand, more as a joke now than a formality. She shook it. "Nice to meet you Lauren, Lauren Evans, I'm Tyler, Tyler McCotter."

"You really _are_ obnoxious, aren't you?" she laughed.

"I try."

Lauren looked around just then---the room was starting to lose daylight. She picked up her bag. "I should go."

But Tyler grabbed her wrist before she could walk off. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on now. You said you wanted to find out about your great-granparents?"

She nodded.

"I can help with that. I'm a history major---I do a lot with family trees and stuff."

"Really?" Lauren beamed. But then she realized something. "It's not on the internet---I've tried that before," she warned.

"It doesn't have to be. There's other ways you can find out that stuff."

"Well, I would _definitely_ appreciate some help---especially from someone who speaks English." And then, suddenly, she remembered something. "Oh! And I have this." The necklace caught the light as she lifted it forward.

"'_Together in Paris_,'" he read, squinting.

"It was hers," Lauren explained. "My great-grandmother's."

Tyler looked at it for a minutte, fascinated somehow by both _it_ and the girl in front of him. Not that he was going to _say_ that. He glanced up at her. "You got a place to stay?"

Lauren shook her head. "Not yet. I haven't found my grandmother yet, so...."

Tyler dismissed the vague reply. "There's a cheap place around the corner. It's not much, but you get a private room and your own bathroom."

She smiled, sincerely, more reassured than she'd been all day. "Thank you."

"I'll come find you tommorrow," he nodded, and she stood, throwing her bag over her shoulder. Realizing that the coffee smell had grown on her, she stopped at the counter to buy a cup before she left.

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_"Ooh! Let's try this place."_

_"What?" He didn't like the look of the place. Something about the bright signs and the striped awnings were just too...peppy. Severely peppy. "We've been here before," he tried._

_"No we haven't; come on, it'll be fun," she begged. "It just opened last month, and Sophie said the food's really good."_

_"_Never_ will I take food advice from _her_," he interjected. "Remember the snail incident?"_

_She ignored the interruption. "Come on, we're both starving," she insisted, gazing up at him._

_He sighed. She knew as well as he did those blue eyes could get her anything. Mostly from him. "Fine. It might not be _completely_ terrible," he conceded._

_"Yes!" She pulled him by the hand through the door and into the cafè. After finding a table, she used her near-perfect French to order, and a waiter brought them their coffee._

_Both took the first trial sip. Dimitri had to stop himself from choking._

_"What _was_ that?"_

_Anya set her cup down for the first time since she'd picked it up. "What? I think it's really good."_

_"It's strong enough to kill somebody. How can you drink that?"_

_She shrugged. "I must like it strong, I guess. I never noticed."_

_"Just don't spill any, it'll burn a hole through the table."_

_"Oh, yeah," she laughed, "this from the man who can down Russian vodka and pico de gallo and be perfectly okay."_

_"Completely different."_

_"How is that?"_

_"Neither one is French coffee."_

_She laughed again, and the waiter arrived with their plates. _

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Lauren left the shop sipping at her coffee. It was a little strong, she realized. She drank it anyway.

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**All I've got to say there is :-) . The flashbacks are fun to write---with all this modern-day stuff, I've actually been missing the old gang. I loved putting in the fact that all these years later, the coffee was still bitter. :D If you've been paying attention, there are a LOT of paralells between this and the original film; for instance, she's 18, he's 20, "Where can I find him," etc. And there's more. Next one on the way!**


	6. Excuse Me?

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**Next morning. I think you'll find this chapter as sort of the equivalent of the "train" scene. R, R, enjoy. **

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The view from her window was definitely a sight to see. It boasted a dreamlike sunrise view of the whole park from the decadently simple comfort of the second floor.

_I love France,_ she thought, momentarily forgetting why she was there.

Lauren brushed the lace curtains aside to get a better look when there came a knock on the door.

Her mind instantly flashed to her parents. _Oh, my God. They know I'm here. I'm dead._

Whoever is was knocked again. Finally, she worked up the courage to answer. Pulling the door open, she heaved a sigh of relief at the figure on the other side. Who, by the way, she kind of accidentally bashed with the door.

"Oh, it's just you."

"Flattering." Tyler walked into the room. "And I think you broke my foot." He held a to-go tray of coffee and a paper bag, from which he produced a box of fresh bagels.

"Ah! Food!" Lauren grabbed hungrily for a pastry. "You're a genius!"

"I figured we'd need sustainance." He sat on the edge of the puffy comforter and pried open his laptop. Then, for some reason, he pulled a digital camera out of his jacket.

"What's that for?"

He turned it on. "C'mere."

She still wanted an answer. "For what?"

"Necklace."

"Oh." She held the pendant straight, he zoomed in, and there was a click. With complete collegiate efficiency, he produced a USB cable and connected the camera to his laptop.

"I did some research last night, and I'm pretty sure this matches what I found," he told her while the photo uploaded. He clicked around a few times, then turned the screen toward her. "See for yourself."

Lauren looked. And then her jaw dropped.

The uploaded picture was right next to a photo in an article, and they were a hundred percent identical.

"Get this. The article says the necklace was custom-made for the Romanov house in 1916," Tyler explained. "It went to the Dowager Marie Feodorovna as a gift for her youngest granddaughter."

"What?" Lauren looked up. "Are you saying this belonged to _royalty_?"

He looked fascinated---apparently history was his major for a reason. "That's _exactly_ what I'm saying. It doesn't have a picture of it_ on _her, but that necklace was worn faithfully by the last Grand Duchess of Russia."

Lauren was frozen to the spot. There were so many things that still didn't make sense. "But...but my great-grandmother wore this every day since she was eight. I don't see how that can be. Are you sure this is the only one?"

"I'm positive. Like I said, custom-made," Tyler insisted. "Did you ever consider that they were the same person?"

"_What?_" Lauren actually fell _off_ the edge of the bed. Stifling her embarassment, she hauled herself back up. "Are you trying to tell me that my great-grandmother was _Anastasia Romanov?_"

"I'm trying to tell you that it's _possible_." He studied her for a second. "Did you have any other clues?"

"Well, no, not that I can..." And then it hit her. "Oh, wait! Yes! Her lullaby."

"Do you remember how it went?"

"Why?"

"Well, I can record it on here and send it to your iPod. It could help later."

"I can try." Lauren closed her eyes, thought back, and let the words come back to her. First she hummed the tune, and then, softly, she sang.

"_On the wind,_

_'Cross the sea,_

_Hear this song and remember;_

_Soon you'll be,_

_Home with me,_

_Once upon a December._"

She was jolted from her trance-like concentration by the sound of a beep. "Got it," Tyler stated. She handed him her iPod, and within seconds, the melody was on it.

"Thanks," she told him, accepting it back. "How is it you know how to do that? I thought you could only go through iTunes."

His self-important reply was, "I make it my business to know."

"Right. Okay." She stooped and thought about everything she'd just been told. _Is it possible? Was my great-grandmother Anastasia? Was my great-great-grandfather the Tsar? Am I really a Romanov?_ First she tried the questions in her head; then, she tried them out loud. "Do you really think she was a Romanov?"

"Pictures don't lie," Tyler gave. "But there's not enough evidence yet, I think."

That sounded about right to Lauren, and she lost herself into thought and into breakfast.


	7. A Sign, A Hint, Anything

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**'Kay, here's the next one. More parallels---pretty much just watch for them through the whole thing so I can stop saying that. **_**Spacibo**_** (Thank you). Drop me a review. Hope you're likin' it.**

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One week. Seven days. A hundred and sixty-eight hours. Ten-thousand and eighty minutes Lauren had been in Paris, and all she had managed to do was create more questions. She really wouldn't mind a few answers right about now.

She sat cross-legged now on the fluffy surface of the bed, flipping through a stack of polaroids of the city she'd managed to snap. _Oh, sure,_ she thought, full of sarcasm, _you can't even find your own grandmother, but you've managed to fill three rolls of film. You came as a searcher, and now you're a tourist._

It was then that she heard a slight scratching noise, or something like it, coming from the mini-balcony-thing on her window. Getting up to invesigate, she saw a young, beige, green-eyed cat, staring devotedly at her and pawing at the window.

She rolled her eyes, but with a smile, fighting the urge to give in to the display of cuteness. "I can't play right now, kitty. I have to find out who I am."

As if on cue, the cat meowed.

"Ah---so you understand, then," she laughed. "How did you get up here, anyway?"

The strange little fella only whisked his tail. He seemed to be saying, 'I like you---can I stay?'

Lauren sighed. "All right. Come in from there." The cat jumped into the room and gratefully pranced under the desk. _A little wierd, but okay,_ she figured, sitting back on the bed. _I did always want a pet...._

Eventually her thoughts turned to the unspoken possibility, which they inevitably had been every five or ten minutes. The possibility that she was a direct descendant of Anastasia.

She thought bitterly back to her birthday, back to the cheap fake tiara, wondering if her family wre the ones to own the _real_ kind. Out loud, she said nothing. But in her head, a fire raged in her mother's direction. _Why didn't you tell me? Is it even true? Are you ashamed? Are you satisfied? I had a right to know! I had a right to know!_

"Hey."

Lauren whipped her head in the direction of the voice. She'd left the door open, and Tyler was standing in it now, fresh from the lobby.

"Oh. Hi."

"Any new leads?" he asked, walking into the room and sitting backwards on the desk chair.

"Nothing. I'm still potentially royal and totally cluless."

Tyler was about to respond, but the stray cat ran out from under the desk at just that moment and crawled up on the bed.

"You got a _cat_?" The disbelief in his voice was evident.

"I guess he's mine now. The little guy climbed up my window."

"I _hate_ cats. I'm allergic to cats."

"Can we get back to the problem, here?" she snapped.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

They both sat in silence for a moment, just thinking. "You know," Tyler started, "All this Romanov stuff.... We're only seeing half the story."

It took Lauren a second to figure out what he was saying. When she did, her eyes widened and lit up. "Him! Whatever my great-grandfather did _must_ have more answers than what I've got so far."

Tyler gave her a 'now-you've-got-it' look and ceremonially handed her his laptop. "Go crazy."

Once the screen was up and the search engine opened, it didn't take long to find something worthwhile. She narrated what she was doing as she did it. "When I found this necklace in my attic, there was another box with it. It was a Medal of Honor from World War Two. So all I have to do is look up the record of recipients, and...ta-da!"

She showed Tyler the photo on the screen, and then reached over to her nightstand to get the framed one she'd brought with her, the one of both of them.

"Dimitri," Tyler read. "Served two months, March to April of 1940. Awarded the Medal of Honor for bravery in combat at the reccomendation of General Mikhail Solodov." Then he glanced at the family photo. "Yep. That's him, all right."

"So he _was_ a vet!" Lauren was on a roll now. "And that must be why they named Uncle Mike Mikhail."

"Wait, wait." Tyler was suddenly more serious, like he was on to something. "Dimitri? Did I read that right?"

"Yeah, why?"

He pulled a photocopied batch of old newspaper clippings from his jacket, and shuffled through them until he found the right one. "I went to the library and got all the Romanov announcements from the papers of 1908 to '16," he explained. "Here---from 1915; it says 'new Imperial staff hired.' Look there at the bottom."

She squinted at the small-print copy of the sepiatone article, and sure enough, a young, shaggy-haired boy stood at the end of the second row, in peasant's clothes and with the matching name on the caption.

Tired of getting caught up in 'what-ifs,' Lauren decided to go with her gut this time, and quickly did the math. In 1915, he would've been nine, which was exactly how old the boy looked in the photo. It was him.

"He worked in the palace!"

"As a kitchen apprentice," Tyler supplied.

She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, expressing her confusion the same way a terrier would. "How would you know that?"

"Because I also researched the entire Imperial staff, and the only description they gave for the year of 1915 was 'kitchen apprentice, age nine,' and there wasn't a name with it," he clarified. "Surprised I didn't think of that yesterday."

"Huh." She thought a moment. "But if that's the case," she began, and this would be a lingering question, "Then how did he end up with _her_?"

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**For the record I'm not a cat person, but I couldn't make the Pooka-like animal a dog; it'd be too cheesey. I know this chapter was a little informational, but I had to start filling at least **_**some**_** blanks, and besides: if there's a world where Dimitri remains an unused sidenote, then I don't wanna **_**live**_** in that world. :D Big things are coming. Peace.**


	8. The Letter

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**Not saying a word. Except review. Don't let me stop you---keep reading.**

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It fell out of a pair of pants. She almost lost it. She was wandering around the park again, and it slipped from her pocket, landing on her shoe. She couldn't believe it. The biggest clue so far...fell out of a ratty pair of jeans.

Lauren intended to correct the oversight immediately. She found a bench, plopped down, and shut out the rest of the world, filling with nervous excitement as she parted the fragile folds. Slowly, intently, she read what the long-forgotten loops of ink had to say.

_Dimitri;_

_I don't even know how to begin this letter. I feel like I should be talking to you in person, instead of writing this down, and I want to, more than you probably know. I miss you. Every five seconds I keep wondering if you're all right, or if you're hurt, or worse.... I don't know how much longer I can take this. And that little girl..._

---_Grandma,_ Lauren thought---

_...I see you in her. You can argue with me all you want on that, but I do. She misses her daddy. I know she loves us both, but come on---we both know she's always been yours. More of a daddy's girl than even me. She's learned a couple new words---it's so cute---and she's been riding her bike, asking for you after she falls, of course. She's got a bunch of these finger paintings she's determined to give you the second you get back, so just nod and smile as if you know what they are. (Your guess is as good as mine.) We're both doing the best we can. I love you so, so much, Dimitri. It's like another life, not having you here every day. All I want is to have you home with us... _

---This must be during the war months.---

_...Our daughter needs you, and I need you. I talk to Vlad every day..._

---Vlad? Why was that name familiar?---

_...and he's worried about you, too. He meant what he said, you know---all though enjoy it, 'cause it's not likely he'll admit it again. I'm not saying---writing---any of this to worry you about us, I just wanted you to know how important you are to all of us back here. You remember the night..._

---_What _night?---

_...in the garden, right, at the beginning of everything? When you handed me that crown?_

---Crown? Did that mean it was true?---

_...(Of course you do.) I chose you for a reason. I love you, Dimitri. I can't say that enough right now---I just want to say it to your face. And as much as I worry, I'm so proud of you. I know, I know, "don't worry," you're saying. I can't help it. But I know you're out there keeping your promise. So come back safe to us. That, mister, is a royal command._

_Anya._

Despite the smirk that the last line brought to her face, the letter on the whole left Lauren confounded. It seemed each hint she found provided as many questions as it silenced, and that, she knew, would get her nowhere.

She put her resolve into a spontaneous decision, and hailed a cab. Letter or not, there was one Romanov legend that she was determined to see for herself.

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**The letter as well as the war idea in general is from my story "Somewhere Down This Road," if you didn't know. Basic FYI. The plot will move faster starting at the next chapter, which I promise will also include another flashback. Read on!**


	9. What Came First, The Music Or The Memory

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**The pace picks up now. She's getting frustrated, even angry, and now she's desperate to find out what she came to know. Important location here. More flashbacks, indicating that the answers are right there, and she's just not seeing them. I can't really put the feel of this part into words that well...just read it. Oh, and the chapter title is a modified quote from _High Fidelity_, which I do not own, nor do I own the song "Ever Present Past." As always, you know I love reviews. Thanks.**

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"Où à?" _Where to?_

"La Seine, s'il vous plaît. Pont Alexandre trois." _The Seine. Alexander III Bridge._

Somewhere up in the sky, the clouds opened, and a heavy rain began to fall. Lauren didn't care anymore. She slouched down in the seat and stared out the window as the cabby took the quickest route possible to the river.

She flipped her iPod on, shuffled through the songs without caring, and settled on one by Paul McCartney.

_Searching for the time that has gone so fast;_

_The time that I thought would last;_

_My ever present past...._

Her mind couldn't stop. Somewhere between _it wasn't possible_ and _I can't handle this anymore_, the taxi screeched to a halt. For a second the only sound was the low squeak of the windsheild wipers against the water-streaked glass. "Vous sûr vous savez que vous faites ici, la Mlle ? La banque un peu inondée." _You sure you know what you're doing down here, miss? The bank's a bit flooded,_ the cabby asked her.

Lauren shoved a few dollars at him and opened the door, pulling up the hood on her sweatshirt. "Je serai parfait." she answered. _I'll be fine._ And the door slammed behind her.

Ignoring the rain, ignoring her soaked clothes, ignoring everyone, she marched down the street and onto the bridge. This rumor in particular, she never heard from her family. She heard it through school, through research.

There was always a rumor. Somewhere. There always _had_ been.

Lauren was sick of rumors. She wanted facts.

The bridge had been paved over now, with a set of white dashes running up the center just like any other street in Europe. There were even a few cars and a bus or two on it. If it had happened, repairs had certainly been made.

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_There was a fire in her eyes. She took a bold step forward. It wouldn't end like this. She owed them that much. "I'm not afraid of you!"_

_The decrepit being in front of her only smiled, and it was enough to sicken her to her stomach. "I can fix that!" He declared. With one bony arm, he hoisted the ugly green source of his power into the air. "Care for a little swim---under the ice?"_

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Nothing was broken. Nothing looked like it ever had been. Even every carved, cherub-topped spire looked as if it were just Bob Vila-approved yesterday.

"So it's _not_ true. So there was no 'curse.' No fight. No duchess, no 'some guy from St. Petersburg,' no _answers_, no _point_.... Aagh! _Why do I care anymore? Why did I ever..?!_"

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_"Hold on!"_

_All she could hear was his voice. She couldn't even see him anymore---all her energy was going into hanging on to the bridge. _

_"Finally," the being laughed, somewhere in front of her. "The last Romanov death!"_

_Horrible minions swirled in a torrent around the area, and the creature sent another blast to follow them. It seemed to her as if nothing could end what was happening._

_Except one thing._

_She reached for another side of the ledge, praying she's strong enough for the other hand not to let go. And then something in her awakened, and her fear vanished, at least for the moment. Scientists would have called it adrenaline, but in this situation, it was more than likely a whole lot more._

_In seconds she was on her feet. Neither had seen her. Both assumed she was dead._

_She hated to do it to the one. But it's exactly what she needed for the other._

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The passers-by ignored the crazy American girl in the street, first talking to herself, then shouting at no one. She suspected they found themselves suddenly very glad to be French.

But she wasn't done yet. She wasn't leaving the city without answers.

_"A house can't stand without framework," _her father had once told her. _"And the framework has a lot to say about everything it holds."_

She wasn't usually a literal girl. But she took this literally now.

Despite the soaking rain, managing to grasp a few footholds in the mud, Lauren made her way down the bank at the end of the bridge.

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_He was laughing now---a laugh that could tear a hole in anyone's peace of mind. Somewhere in between, carefully chosen words, leaded with sarcasm, make their way out. "Long live the Romanovs!"_

_"Right." Choosing that moment to speak, she stepped out of the smoke, revealing her presence. Not defeated. Not yet. Not ever. "I couldn't have said it better myself!"_

_With the authority of royalty, with the courage of an orphan, for love, for revenge, for the future, she charged, toppling the creature to the ground. It wasn't over yet._

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Scramling down the bank of a raging river always looked easier in the movies. Still, Lauren managed to make it underneath the massive bridge, and gazed demandingly into the bars and rafters of it.

Climbing farther, she noticed a sort of C-shape, but backwards, on the left side. It still fit uniformly, but it had definitely been welded. Misshapen globs of iron were always a dead giveaway.

It was only a scar in the frame, only evidence of damage and repair. But to Lauren, it offered something that everyone else just couldn't get---truth.

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_In those last seconds, fate seemed to give her a hand. The reliquary rolled directly under her shoe, and she was poised for the end._

_Looking to the side for the slightest second, she saw him for the first time in minutes, and he wasn't moving, not anymore. Nothing, at the moment, could have angered her more deeply._

_"This," she hissed, pressing her foot down on the glass, "is for Dimitri!" _

_The surface sprouted a dozen little hairline fractures, and she enjoyed it. A lot._

_"Give it back," the creature was demanding---begging, even---tearing at her skirt._

_She fought him off. "This," she added next, "is for my family!" She stepped harder._

_"I'll tear you to pieces!"_

_"And this," came her final vindication, "this is for you! Dasvidaniya!"_

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It was all true. Everything. The whole legend, or what she knew of it anyway.

The duchess had been here. There had been a struggle. A demon had been defeated. And a young man no one knew had come to the rescue.

The story of her survival, of their future---it was all true. But had their future been her past?

She wanted a sign. No, no---make that a _distraction_. She wanted _distraction_.

Lauren took her iPod from the pocket on her hoodie and gave it a shake, maybe a little too hard. She was glad that she didn't have to click to shuffle songs anymore---she wasn't that patient today.

At first she didn't even recognize the song that came up. When she remembered that it was Tyler's recording of the lullaby, she shook it again. _I can't even listen to that right now._

So understandably, she was annoyed when it came on again. "Ugh!" This time she pressed Shuffle manually.

And guess what came on.

And a fourth time.

A fifth.

A sixth.

Finally, she let the song play through. Maybe she'd been getting signs after all. Calming down, and looking up, she noticed that it had suddenly stopped raining.

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**Answers on the way. Along with other things... Keep reading! (And of course telling me what you thought of it.)**


	10. Que Sera

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**Starts the next day or so, then advances about a week, broken up accordingly. Aaaand now I sound like a teacher. Wonderful. Anyway, some big, fast plot advances happen. Read, review.**

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"So you still haven't found your grandmother yet?"

"No," she answered, staring into her iced coffee as they walked aimlessly around the city. "My mother never told me anything about her or my great-uncle except their first names. Like _that_ would do any good right now."

Tyler stirred his straw around in what ice cubes he had left. "So maybe you should take a break."

Lauren shot him a look. "Are you saying I should give up?"

"No," he clarified. He kept staring at his coffee cup, as if the words he wanted to remember were floating inside. "I'm just saying....there's a formal banquet for the Foreign Studies group next week. A charity type thing. Thought maybe you'd wanna go."

Lauren did all she could not to gasp, burst out laughing. or both. _Was that just a social invitation from Mr. Monosyllable?_ She looked sideways at him. "Are you _asking_ me?"

"Are you accepting?" he countered, looking up for the first time with a grin.

She thought about it, and she smiled. "Yeah. I am."

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There was something about shopping in Paris that was very different from shopping in the States. It was more exciting. And definitely more expensive, a fact she realized upon laying down a hundred and forty dollars for a strapless lavender evening dress. And _that_ was from the _clearance_ rack. She was glad the white gloves came at no extra charge.

Lauren spent a good deal of time getting ready the night of the function. Finally, she left the verdict up to a trusted friend.

She turned to her cat. "Well, Mackey? What do you think?"

He meowed, swishing his khaki-colored tail.

"Good. So the dress is a hit," she laughed. "Look at me---I'm talking to a cat."

It was good for her, not to be thinking about question, question, question all the time. And despite her focus on the situation, she was still looking forward to an evening without stress or studying or digging for clues. And maybe, she thought, just maybe, if she forgot to look for a while, one would find her on its own.

Heading for the door, she stooped down to give the feisty little cat a pat on the head. "Wish me luck, Mackey. Lately I need all I can get."

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The building the banquet was being held in was certainly impressive. The clusters of well-dressed patrons and honorees were impressive. To Lauren, even the fact that there was a doorman was impressive. She handed off her coat and started up the stairs to the entrance.

"Lauren! Hey!"

She stopped halfway up the steps and turned halfway around in time to see Tyler, tuxedo included, hurrying to catch up. When she turned, though, he stopped, and just sort of stood there and stared, with a totally absorbed look on his face.

Lauren shrugged, eyebrows raised. "What?"

He shook his head, blinked a few times, and the look was gone. "Nothing," he said, taking the rest of the stairs and joining her as she headed inside.

To some, the room would have been standard; but to Lauren, middle-class American girl that she was, everything was beautiful, exciting, fascinating. Hours passed, and with the aid of her escort, she found herself enjoying every one of them.

Her stomach quickly became very familiar with the butterfly situation. As the evening went on and the function progressed, Lauren couldn't help but think that Tyler's intentions went beyond just historical research---and she realized she wasn't adverse to the idea. Not at all.

She kept her nervousness in check as Tyler introduced her to a group of his friends from the summer program. "Lauren, this is Jake Bowreski, Andrew James, and Zack Miller. We all had Spain last year."

"Hi," she said to them, smiling without having to try.

The third one---she'd already forgotten his name---let a look of recognition wash over his face. "Oh! The Romanov girl! I was _wondering_ how you got in."

Tyler made a frantic effort to shut him up, but it was too late. The damage was done. As the words sank in, ringing in Lauren's ears, all her happiness from the evening deflated and dropped like a shattered mirror. She turned on Tyler with narrow, bitter eyes. "The _Romanov_ girl?" was her harsh, hurt near-whisper. "You told them?"

"Lauren, it's not what it---"

"_I_ don't even know if it's _true_ yet, and you _told_ people about me? Like I'm some kind of _artifact?_" Her voice was raising now. The other three backed off, and Tyler backed up too, but she wouldn't let him get away that easy. She carried on, getting louder, jabbing an accusatory finger at him with every word. "Is that why they let me _in_ here? Because they all think I'm some kind of _princess_?"

"Lauren, I _swear_---"

"Am I just some inanimate credit to you? 'Oh, look, Tyler brought a Romanov, isn't he just special!' Is that all this is?"

"Look, you have to believe me, I---"

"No!" He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. "I don't want to hear _anything_ you have to say right now. I can't believe I ever thought...._Ugh_!"

"Lauren," he persisted, and he was sincere, "_please_, I didn't---"

"No! Just leave me alone!" she roared, and stormed away toward the doors.

She fought back tears as she waited fro an attendant to recover her coat, contemplating just leaving it. _How could I be so stupid...._

It was then that she was startled by a gentle hand on her back.

"Get _away_ from me, Tyler," she gritted, before even turning around. When she did, however, she was met with an even bigger shock.

The face wasn't his. It was female. Older.

"Lauren? It _is_ you! Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

Lauren gasped.

"_Grandma_...."

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**(Ha! _Whoa. Toldja._)**


	11. The Final Holes In The Puzzle

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**Immediately after the last one ended. Review, and don't let me stop ya, keep going! Go on! Read it!**

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Both shock and releif were vying for Lauren's attention at that point. The whole Paris experience was enough to make a regular eighteen-year-old girl need to lie down for a while.

Her grandmother saved her the embarrassment of stammering yet another half-sentance. "Come on, dear, why don't we talk a bit in private."

She led Lauren into an adjacent room, apparently a study of some sort, and each of them took a chair. "Wha...what are you doing here?"

"I helped to organize this whole event." Tasha studied her granddaughter for a long moment, and the pride in her eyes was evident. "Look at you, how much you've grown! A beautiful young woman, exactly like your picture. Better, even. The last time we saw each other face to face, you were eight years old. I don't suppose you'd remember."

Lauren struggled to bring some sort of memory to the the forefront. "I do, actually," she finally said. "We...we went to a street fair, and you bought me a stuffed monkey. I still have it in my room."

Tasha chuckled a bit, remembering the day herself. "It is so good to see you, honey. With your mother being the way she is, I was beginning to think I never would again."

That got Lauren thinking about everything again, and she was quiet. "Grandma? Why is mom the way she is about all this? I came to Paris to find out about my great-grandparents. I'm tired of only being told half the story. I want the truth---I just want to know where I come from."

Tasha sighed, the kind only a grandmother can supply. Something it told Lauren that Tasha had known this day would come. "I suppose you're referring to the Romanov rumor?"

Lauren nodded. Yes or no, she was about to finally know the truth.

"Your mother only ever wanted to protect you, Lauren. You must know that. But somewhere along the line, her good intentions went too far---Allie always was a strong-willed girl, which I suppose runs in the family...." Tasha let the sentence fade away, and sensing Lauren's urgency, clarified history with one sentence. "My mother was the Grand Duchess Anastasia."

"Oh...so then...." Lauren tried her hand at speaking, but it just wasn't working out. "Wow."

"It was never that Alexandra was ashamed of her heritage. More that she was scared. But the world isn't like that now---the days of ugly war are falling behind Russia, and the point was never to return to power, or to bear some sort of cross to put shame to those who wished us harm. My brother, your Uncle Mikhail and I, we saw what the point truly was. There were only two people in this world who ever knew the meaning of love conquering all, and we were raised by them, befriended by them, taught by them. It was in them that we developed our greatest sense of pride."

She took in every one of her grandmother's words, the whole speech, and took them to heart. But a few points were still foggy, and she fully intended not to leave them that way. "But if she was the Grand Duchess after all, and he.... How...?"

Tasha smiled. "I knew that would come up. How much have you learned of the seige on the palace in 1916?"

"Just a bit. I read that she and her grandmother escaped, but it didn't say how."

"My father, that's how." Lauren's eyes went wide, and she recalled the picture from the article. "He was ten years old at the time, a kitchen boy in the palace, and he opened a secret passage in the wall. When the two women made it to the train station, my mother hit her head on the tracks. They were separated, and she spent ten years with amnesia in an orphanage. She left to find her family in 1926, and that was about the time my father was conning St. Petersburg out of its money."

"You're kidding!"

"Not at all. He was abandoned by his parents when he was almost five---and believe me, it took years before they would even tell me that. He went to work for the Imperial family, and was even friends with Anastasia, and when the revolution ended his job, he was taken in by a former Imperial courtmember, who later on became a great friend of the family."

Lauren felt like she could connect the dots now. "Was his name Vlad, by any chance? I've heard of him."

"It certainly was---and he was the closest thing to a father my father ever had. Have I rambled enough, or do I keep going?" she joked.

Lauren didn't even have to think about it, not for a second. "Keep going."

"All right then. By the time 1926 came around, my father, your great-grandfather, was a bona-fide con artist, and he and Vlad had a plan to train an imposter in the royal ways and pass her off to the Dowager Empress as Anastasia."

"Why?"

"Because the Dowager had posted a ten-million ruble reward for her safe return," Tasha explained. "I couldn't make this up if I tried. So when she left the orphanage, she found him, or _he_ found _her_---they'd both give you different versions at this point of the story---and they carried out the con. They trained her, brought her all the way here, and by now, they were both head-over-heels, but being stubborn, they never said a word. And Rasputin---I'm sure you've read of him in your classes?"

Lauren nodded.

"He'd been trying to complete that dratted 'curse' of his the whole way, but my father was there to save her every time.... Anyway. By that time the con meant nothing to him. He did everything he could to get the Dowager to meet with her, even when everyone else was against him---because she'd learned about the scheme by then, of course, and turned him away. They reunited because of him, and it was at the celebration gala that---"

"---There was the fight on the bridge," Lauren finished.

"Exactly. He refused the reward money, and left. He never thought he belonged there, but he came back for her, and he nearly got himself killed trying to save her life. Proof that my father never did anything the _easy_ way," she grinned. "When it was over, he gave her the choice. A life of duty and important titles, or a life with him. And look at us." Tasha gestured to herself and to Lauren. "We're the proof of her descision. They eloped that very night, and instead of having a traditional first dance in some recreation hall like ordinary couples---which they never were---they had theirs on a steamboat on the moonlit river. Even as a child, that was my favorite part of the story."

"So that's how it all happened?" Lauren asked, though it was more of a confirmation than a question.

"Other than the minute details of what came after. They spent a lot of time traveling from---"

"---1926 to 1937."

"Right, and he joined---"

"---The war in 1940. A two-month enlistment."

Tasha looked at her granddaughter with a sly respect. "You really have done your homework, haven't you?"

"I've tried," she admitted, "but nothing has told me as much as what you just did."

"Well." Tasha stood up then, and absentmindedly went about straightening the room. "It's important that you know. It is. There are those out there...who treat our story like a threat. They'd do all they can to keep knowledge of it locked away, like some dangerous weapon whose code only we could know. They justify their actions by saying it's for our own protection, but all they want to do is keep the new generation in ignorance." She stopped rearranging, and turned back to her granddaughter. "I got a phone call from the United States government last week, in fact."

Lauren instantly knew what that meant. Her parents had reported her at some point, and the system had probably freaked out over the Romanov issue. She winced. "What did you tell them?"

Tasha shrugged it off. "They told me not to tell you the truth, so I pretended I was senile. They hung up, and I haven't heard from them since." She smiled, and so did Lauren. "What can I say? I'm my mother's daughter."

"Grandma," Lauren began, "I can't thank you enough for doing this. I mean, when I found this necklace, I never---"

She stopped talking, because when she said that, Tasha gave her a look that she couldn't define. "The necklace? My mother's? _Together_---"

"---_In Paris_," Lauren finished. She held it up. "Yes. That's the one. It was in my attic."

Tasha took her purse from the table and reached into it. "I want to show you something," she said, with more emotion in her voice than there'd been before.

She pulled out a small, round, golden box, with emerald detail. It matched the necklace exactly.

Tasha held out her open hand. "May I?"

With a nod, Lauren slipped the thin chain over her head, and dropped it in her grandmother's palm. As she pressed the pendant carefully into its slot and gave it a turn, Tasha explained, "This was part of the gift the Dowager gave my mother in 1916. And it was how they found each other again in 1926. My mother wore this necklace every day, and my father was the one who returned the box to her grandmother. It was their secret."

The tiny lid lifted open. At first the little melody had a rough start, both age and wear slowing the gears within its shell, but finally it played, and the little notes were as clear as the song of a bird in summertime.

Eyes closed, lost in memory, Tasha hummed along with the music box, and when she began to sing the words, so did Lauren.

"_On the wind,_

_'Cross the sea,_

_Hear this song and remember;_

_Soon you'll be,_

_Home with me,_

_Once upon a December._"

Tasha's eyes were damp by the time she opened them again. When she spoke, it was full of meaning. "That's all anyone can give, my dear," she said. "That's all that we have. You come from a line of Tsars and crowns, and from hard times, far away, but none of that is important in the end. None of it. My parents loved each other more than anything in this world. _That_ is what's truly important. _That_ is what you ultimately come from. There won't ever be a power like that again, not in my lifetime. We---you, me, your mother, Mikhail and his family---_we_ are what they gave the world. We are their legacy. That's all we can hope to comprehend. That's all."

Lauren couldn't resist anymore, and she wrapped her grandmother in a hug, knowing with all her heart that she believed the same; knowing that she would always remember this day, because now, finally, she knew.

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**Wow. Okay, I know that chapter was long, and I know it spent a while re-telling the film, but I had to put it in---that was the whole reason she went to Paris, to find that stuff out. Actually it turned out better than I hoped. The music box bonds yet another girl with her grandmother....beginning to think it has a mind of its own.... ;D Anyway, there's only two chapters left, and be sure to let me know your thoughts. Thanks.**


	12. A Change Of Heart

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**Following day. Tying up the rest of the loose ends now. Enjoy. R & R.**

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She possesed a strange new kind of courage when she knocked on his door that morning. Something in her was calmer. At peace, even. But she couldn't let this go unfinished.

She knocked again until he answered. When he finally did, he just looked at her, half wondering if she was even really there at all. "Lauren," he stammered. "How did you...?"

"Find you?" she finished. "You could say I made it my business." She gestured to the inside of the room. "Can I...?"

"Sure. Sure." Tyler shut the door behind her, and after that an apology just sort of poured out. "Lauren, listen, I_ swear _I didn't think of you like that. I knew your grandmother would be there---I wanted it to be a...a surprise, I guess. It was an invitation-only kind of thing, I said what I had to say to get you in.... I never thought---"

"Tyler." Just like that, he stopped talking. "It's okay. I get it. I overreacted. I ran into her when I was leaving, and we talked. Everything's all right now."

He looked relieved, but he was also looking down at the floor. "Good. So.... Was it.... Are you...?"

She knew what he was saying. "Yeah. She was her. So I guess that makes me... Well. You know."

He nodded.

Lauren kept talking. "But it doesn't matter," she stated, knowing her grandmother would be proud. "That was never the point. I know who I am now, and that's all I need."

He nodded again. He still didn't look up.

She took a deep breath. "Mostly."

He looked up.

It was getting a little scarier to keep going, but she did anyway. She made herself. "Tyler, I want to thank you for everything. You helped me when you didn't even know me. I mean, at that party, I thought maybe there was... Well, I _felt_ like there was... That you..."

"I did," he interjected, throwing her totally off guard. "I do. There is."

She found herself moving toward him, almost without her own consent. "So we're on the same page here?"

He headed for her, too, and they met in the center of the room. "We're on the same page here." He bent down to her, just the littlest bit, and was about to kiss her, when she held up a finger to stop him.

He looked confused. "In a second," she assured with a smile. "You know what I wanna do, though?"

"What?"

She wouldn't answer. Instead, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door.

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The evening was cool for summer, and travel was slow that night, so obtaining two tickets down the Seine was no trouble, no trouble at all.

When they boarded, Lauren dragged Tyler to the front of the ship, right on the forward deck as they passed under bridge after bridge at a slow crawl. Sure, she realized, the ship was much newer, and maybe the skyline brighter, but she had a feeling, a satisfied feeling, that it was essentially exactly the same.

With the smile that refused to leave her face, she held out her hand to him. "Dance with me?"

He caught on, and took it. "It would be my pleasure."

Stepping into the right formation, smiling and hand in hand, they made an honest attempt to perform a respectable waltz across the deck. Sure, neither of them were experts or anything. But Lauren knew she'd figure it out---or anything else, for that matter. She was a fast learner. Rumor has it, it ran in the family.

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**(Awwww. A perfect beginning. :-) I know that sounds like the ending, and it kind of is, even though there's one chapter left...you'll see. Just tell me what you liked. I know I loved writing it. Keep in mind there's one more....**


	13. Until Then

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**'Kay, remember back on the first chapter, how I said that it was knid of depressing how it was "after Anya & Dimitri's time," and how not to worry because you'd all LOVE the final chapter, and NOBODY would see it coming? Well, here it is---and if you guessed somehow then shut up and fake it, 'cause this is great. :D I don't even know how I **_**thought**_** of this. Notice how it's NOT in italics.... Just read, you'll understand in a minute....**

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A gentle breeze was drifting by outside, and as a result the curtains on the open window drifted in and out, back and forth. The only illumination around came from a single streetlight and the moon.

It was somewhere between when the crickets stopped chirping and the breaking of the clouds that she woke up next to him. She sat up, and as if on cue, so did he---he always seemed to wake up when she did, figuring it was sort of an innate protective thing.

"You okay?" he asked. He knew all about her tendency for nightmares.

But it wasn't a nightmare. Not this time. "I had the strangest dream...."

Dimitri resigned himself to the idea that sleeping was out of the question. He brushed her hair out of her face. "Yeah? What about?"

"It was..._complicated_," Anya decided. "How long was I asleep?"

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**Toldja! The whole thing was her dream. That way it still "happened," but we're back in the 20's with A&D and everybody's just the way we left them. Brilliant? Possibly. :D :D :D PUH-LEEZE review me! I loved writing this, so THANK you for reading it, and I hope you had as much fun with it as I did. Peace & love.**


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